His Prosecutor, His Possession

Lights Out

Victoria Harper

My previous choice was my baby or my relationship. Now it was even more high staked than that. It was my baby or my reputation and my father’s life.

It didn’t help that I couldn't get the kiss out of my head.

The kiss should have faded by now.

But it hadn’t.

I kept replaying it in my head. Malcolm’s hand gripping me, his mouth crushing against mine like it was the only thing keeping us both alive. It burned through me long after he left. And God, the way he left was so abrupt, like he couldn’t get away fast enough. Like kissing me was some mistake.

I’ll admit that it was. I wasn’t even thinking when I did it.

But if it was, why couldn’t I stop remembering the heat in his eyes? Why did my heart race at the thought of him?

I turned off the TV, but not before Daniel’s face flashed across the screen. Smiling. Waving. Cameras capturing every perfect angle. The reporters praised him, the crowd chanted, and all I saw was a liar.

The world adored him. I hated him.

And I was stuck in the middle, suffocating under his shadow.

I thought about Malcolm again, about telling him what Daniel had said, what he was forcing me to do. But what good would that do? Malcolm looked like he was well to do, but he wasn’t a politician. He wasn’t the golden boy with the world eating out of his hand. If Daniel crushed me so easily, what chance would Malcolm have?

Still, part of me wanted to reach for him, to whisper the truth, to let someone carry this weight with me. But fear tied my tongue.

And then came the other battle.

The baby.

I pressed my palm against my flat stomach, my chest tightening. At first, I thought I could be strong. That I could keep it. That I could fight Daniel and let the world say whatever they wanted about me. That maybe, for once in my life, I could choose for myself.

But then I imagined the headlines. The whispers. The shame. My face plastered everywhere as the pregnant prosecutor with leaked nudes.

I wanted to scream.

Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was actually going to abort my own baby.

And by the time I grabbed my bag, by the time I stepped outside, I had convinced myself this was the only way. I’d abort the baby. Quietly. Secretly. No one had to know.

Not even Malcolm. It’d be better for everyone that way.

I called doctor Allen and made the appointment to b abort the baby with a heavy heart. I didn’t even trust myself behind a wheel with the weight of my decision slowly killing me.

I flagged a cab. The cab pulled up, and I slid into the backseat

I told myself it would be quick. I told myself I’d find a way to breathe again afterward.

But halfway down the street, the car stopped.

Too soon.

“Why are we stopping?” My voice cracked.

The driver didn’t answer.

The locks clicked.

And before I could scream, before I could even reach for the door, the world spun into darkness as a cloth pressed against my face.